Butterscotch Soul
by duffdi
Summary: Here follows the adventures of the Dragonborn: a slightly psychotic wood elf who would rather befriend dragons than kill them. It's hard to deal with life's problems when confronted with annoying guards, nosy Thalmor, and obnoxious travel companions...
1. Dragon Bounty

Ah, another rainy, dreary day in Riften. There's nothing quite as nice as sipping Nord-brewed alcoholic beverages near a slow, sultry market square in an oppressive rat-hole of a city. Amidst all this dirt, grime, and general suspicion, the Jarl's recent promise made me snort. Thane of the Rift, she said. Ha. I had better things to do than shell out 8000 of my hard-earned gold to buy a shack in town. I said I'd think about it, but the Keep had seen the last of me for the next few years.

I'm not ashamed to say I fit right in here. Besides, Riften was already my home… ish… thing. Eh, well, I was between jobs at the moment, mostly because I'd found myself in the company of the town's biggest anti-thief envoy: Mjoll the Lioness. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. It wasn't like I was pinching _her_ stuff, anyway. The point was, I'd met her some time ago, did her a long, drawn-out favor, and now she'd made herself available whenever I needed a fighting buddy. Seeing as she was one of the few Nords not bent on cracking elf skulls, I was okay with it.

I was also currently in the company of one Erik the Slayer. He was inexperienced, but I figured if he got killed, at least his poor old dad could cash in on that armor that—oh yeah—I had paid for. See? Like I had the funds to buy a house! I was too busy paying for farm boys to get their butts kicked by bandits and bears and trolls and spriggans—

"Can we go inside? I'm suffocating," Erik said.

The only reason I kept the whiner around was because he had a good attitude when I asked him to carry stuff.

"Sure, sure," I muttered, shrugging away from the bridge railing.

"I've never been to Riften before," Erik reflected.

"Heck, you haven't been out of Rorikstead before!" I snapped. After a second of thought, I flung my empty mead bottle into the scummy canal below.

"HEY! What are you _doing?"_ Mjoll squawked, but I was already headed for the tavern.

Riften's booze joint was big and well-lit, but there weren't many people around… just the grumpy Argonian guy sweeping the already spotless floor, the empire-bashing Snow-Shod boys, a mercenary or two, and some sullen meadery workers. What a glorious carnival of fun! The mood seemed to darken even further as we approached the bar, where Keerava was cleaning a tankard in a manner that suggested it had done her a personal wrong.

"You again? What in blazes do you want?"

I think the reason she hated me wasn't so much that I'd beat her up over a debt… no, I think it was because of the time I applied as a bard and demonstrated my, um, expertise with a lute. I thought I did pretty good, but then, I'd had a few tankards of beer at that point…

"Are we really going to sit around drinking all day?" Mjoll muttered.

"Of course… not," I said hastily as her glare intensified. "I thought we could find something useful to do here. Geez, Mjoll."

"Oh yeah? And what are we going to do, chat with the mercenaries? I've never been a sell-sword, you know, never traded my sword for hire. I—"

"Yeah, I know, I know! And what did it get you? A Dwemer centurion in the face—"

"I was reckless and took too many risks, but that was what it was all about—"

"Right, well you're _my_ hireling now, so _my_ adventures are what it's all about—"

"Hireling? Are you _paying_ me? No, I'm helping you out of my own—"

"Door's over there! Why don't you use it?" Keerava hollered.

"You have a lot of nerve, coming back here after what you did to Keerava," Talen-Jei butted in, looking up from his sweeping job.

"Shut it, you!" Keerava bellowed. "I don't want to hear another word out of you 'til you find that blasted ring—"

"You lost it?" I gasped. "Talen-Jei… those amethysts were worth—"

"Never mind," he mumbled quickly.

"Aaaaugh! Look, Keerava, have you heard anything interesting lately? Barkeepers know all the gossip, right?"

Keerava sniggered for some reason. "Here, the Jarl came by and left a bounty letter."

I took the slip of paper. "Hmm… a dragon, huh? Dang it."

"Whaddaya mean, dang it?" Keerava growled. "Aren't you supposed to be—"

"Yes, I'm the stupid dragonborn, and everywhere I go there's great blasted flying reptiles trying to bite my head off," I answered. "Not unlike some tavern keepers around here…"

"Just go and get that head bitten off, 'kay?" Keerava barked.

"Oh, _that's_ what your ugly grin is for," I snapped. "Fine! Come on, hirelings."

"Hirelings?"

"Mjoll, if you say one more word about your sword not being for hire—"

Erik tapped me on the shoulder. "Say, if it's a dragon we're hunting, I think you should pay me another 500 gold."

"Forget it, kid. You're welcome to head back to boring old Rorikstead whenever you want."

Ah, another gorgeous afternoon in the Rift. There's nothing quite like wandering aimlessly in the woods surrounded by angry wildlife and tripping over foxes every two seconds. My sour mood could only be lightened by the sight of Erik whooping and leaping as a bee chased him from its hive; when it finally stung him, I caught the little insect and stuffed its mangled body in my pocket for future alchemy endeavors.

"So what's got _you_ in such a rotten mood?" Erik eventually asked.

"Do I have to answer that?"

"No. I just thought you might like to vent."

"I can vent without you." A wicked grin crossed my face. "I could teach you a few anger management tricks, if you're interested."

"Sure," the idiot replied. Too bad for him that he was so eager to please.

"Trick number one," I began. "Vocal release. Observe… FUS RO DAH!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Mjoll was too shocked to scold me as we watched our companion take a one-way air ticket into a troll's den.

"See?" I called. "I feel way better now!"

"Help!"

"No, no. You need the experience."

Troll snarls rose from the den, accompanied by Erik's alternating screams and war whoops. This kid really needed to get out more. I'd seen dozens of trolls in my travels, but the way he flailed and screeched, you'd think he'd never even _heard_ of one.

"What kind of hero _are_ you?" Mjoll exclaimed, and with that, she rushed to the rescue.

This caught me off guard. Hero? Me? Then I scowled. Just because I was some mythical donut-king or whatever the dragons called it didn't mean I had to be a hero… did it? Well, okay, maybe. It was apparently my destiny to save the world from an evil dragon who apparently ate souls. Hmm… did souls actually have a flavor? Were 'good' souls better-tasting than 'bad' souls? Come to think of it, was my soul good or bad? Sure, I'd consorted with daedra, stolen a dragon's weight in gold, and killed an old lady in the woods, but I'd also done a lot of favors for people and saved a few lives and spent back-breaking hours hacking at ebony veins for a crippled miner… Well! If I ended up getting eaten by Alduin, I figured I at least deserved to know what flavor I was!

"Butterscotch," I said when Mjoll finally hobbled back with a dazed Erik over her shoulders.

"What?"

"That's what kind of hero I am," I answered reflectively. "Butterscotch, I think. It's sort of a good taste, but then it leaves a funny aftertaste that kind of gets worse when you eat pickles… and believe me, Alduin eats pickles. Or is it peppers?"

"What the skeever tail are you yakking about?" Mjoll exclaimed. She dumped Erik at my feet and planted her hands on her hips.

"It's like this," I said, suddenly businesslike. "No matter what I do or say, every dragon I come across wants to eat me. It's like, hel-LO, we could be friends instead of killing each other, but no, they're all power-hungry freaks! Didn't you ever want a pet dragon? But noooooooo, they won't listen! And it's not until they're bleeding everywhere that they land long enough to be in hearing range!"

There was a moment of silence. Birds twittered.

The heap that was Erik stirred in the grass. "Are you… lonely?" he wheezed.

"Heck, no. I just think dragons would be better off doing my bidding than bleeding everywhere."

"Oh."

"Well, maybe someday you can find a way to barter with a dragon for its services," Mjoll said irritably.

"I'd need to rig some kind of trap for that," I mused.

"Right. In the meantime, let's go kill us a dragon, okay?"

"See, it's that attitude that makes the dragons want to kill humans."

"No, I think as the dragonborn you're the human ambassador to their kind, and since you're obnoxious, you give us all a bad rap. Come on, Erik. We can go without her."

"You can-NOT," I said loudly.

"Don't shout, don't shout!" Erik yelped.

Five bears and a dozen wolves later, we arrived in Shor's Stone, a mining village north of Riften. It was a small, dreary place with a major spider problem. The ebony mine had been suffering a deluge of arachnid invaders, and no matter how many times I cleared them out, they always found their way back in. I'd started charging extra for the extermination. I mean, come on, I had better things to do than kill giant spiders… like gutting the mine, for instance, and selling the ore to the same guy who paid me to slaughter mutant bugs in the first place.

I hadn't been in the settlement five seconds before Sylgja was in my face. For a girl who had had a life-threatening accident and claimed to be crippled, she sure could run when she wanted to.

"Hey, good to see you again!" she gushed. "Listen, you aren't headed to Darkwater, are you?"

"No," I said.

"Oh, good! Would you mind dropping off these letters for me?" She shoved a satchel into my hands.

"By the Nine!" I grouched. "A whole satchel of letters? I thought you were a miner, not a novelist!"

"Well, ever since the accident—"

"Okay, okay!" I said quickly. "No, you don't have to pay me—"

"I insist!"

I sighed. Leave it to a cheerful invalid to make me feel lousy about being a grouch.

"Excuse me! You, there!"

We glanced around in surprise. It was a shock to hear any voices at all in this deserted collection of hovels, and when I saw who the voices belonged to, I nearly wet my pants. Hurrying towards us was a trio of Altmer mages, all of whom looked ominously upset. Great… Thalmor, the most controlling busybodies in Tamriel. It was no use playing my 'hey-there-fellow-elves' card; being a wood elf, I wasn't quite on their self-proclaimed higher plane of existence.

I looked resentfully at Sylgja. "Since when is Shor's Stone a waypoint for _them?"_

"It's not! They're just passing through… I hope."

"Excuse me," the lead Thalmor said again, shoving his face into mine. This was a considerable feat, seeing as high elves were very tall and wood elves like me were shrimps. I was surprised he was willing to sacrifice his only _true_ claim to high-and-mightiness for the express purpose of getting in my bubble. "Did I hear you blasphemously refer to _the Nine?"_

"Eh… what? _Me?_ No… no, no. Not me," I said.

"I specifically heard you," the Altmer insisted.

"Well, yes, I said the nine, but I didn't mean _the_ Nine… I was referring to the nine planets, you know? I still don't think they should've bumped off Pluto because it was small. That's like saying wood elves don't count in the grand scheme of things, isn't it? Or like saying normal spiders are small potatoes compared to the hulking ones infesting this place, 'cuz I think they're just as bad—"

"Or like saying mortal heroes aren't good enough to be gods?" Erik said helpfully.

The Thalmor pointed a triumphant finger of condemnation. "Clap 'im in irons, boys!"

"Nooooo, no, no, no!" I tittered maniacally as I jumped in front of Erik. "Don't mind him. He's just a dumb country bumpkin. Can you believe I paid him five hundred gold to help me out with a bandit problem? Honestly, he should be paying _me_ for hands-on training, not to mention that pricey set of steel he's wearing…"

"Tough beans," the Thalmor said, cracking his knuckles. "ALL you Nords are bumpkins, and it's time to make way for the true rulers of Skyrim!"

"I'm not a Nord!" I protested.

Mjoll kicked me in the shins and drew her sword. "Bring it, Thalmor scum!"

The Thalmor leader raised his hand and sent bolts of magical lightning at us. It detonated a whole hundred-foot radius, charring the earth and sending a few unfortunate rabbits sailing sky-high.

"We're routed! Fall back!" Sylgja shouted to no one in particular, and she scampered off with surprising speed.

"Yaaaaah!" Mjoll bellowed, and a full-out fight ensued.

"Blast it," I muttered. Did I have to do everything? I drew my swords—shields were highly overrated, in my opinion—and paused for a moment to watch Erik flail around with zero finesse and Mjoll beat a fallen Thalmor senseless with the flat of her blade. These people were useless, I tell you. When I finally rushed in to help, both of my companions got in the way, and I made a few accidental dents.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm on your side!"

As if I didn't know that.

"Get outta my way!" I yelled. When at last I had a clear shot, I skewered a Thalmor, and his shout of, "Is that your best?" trailed away into a moan of death. This left one Thalmor to deal with. He was the dancey-prancy mage kind, and I couldn't seem to move forward and swing my weapons at the same time, much like overly-insulting Nord children couldn't squeeze and pull at the same time, resulting in a huge market for child-proof doorknobs. Point being, my health and stamina were very low, and I could hear my heart pounding really loudly, which is usually a sign of impending doom.

"Hold up!" I shouted.

Everybody froze mid-swing.

"One sec," I said, pulling a few bottles out of my knapsack. "Philter of Strength… Virulent Magicka Poison… Falmer Blood Elixir… whoops, ha ha, not that I'm buying from charismatic miracle-potion dealers, or anything… ah, Potion of Extreme Healing! Gosh, this is a big bottle… time out for a few minutes, okay?"

The potion tasted like barnacles and chaurus droppings. See if I ever bought anything at the Hag's Cure again.

"Okay, time in!"

With the edge from the disgusting brew, I was able to deliver a killing blow without receiving one myself. The last Thalmor agent lay headless and twitching in a pool of blood. I waited a minute for my adrenaline to evaporate and my theme music to fade out, and then I promptly looted the corpses for gold.

"What cheapskates," I exclaimed in disappointment.

"You don't want these nifty robes?" Erik asked.

"No," I answered. "They're useless, and anyway, I don't think the miners would thank me for leaving naked Thalmor sprawled in their yards."

"Fair point," Erik conceded.

"You have no problem leaving naked bandit chiefs in people's camps," Mjoll pointed out.

"The dude had _ebony_ armor, Mjoll! Ebony! You know how much pocket change that stuff generates?"

"Speaking of which, are we going to clear out the mine again, or not?"

"Like I have time for that." I turned to the dead bodies at my feet. "Point for me, dudes. I may not be a Nord, but I'll always support Talos."

"You're a Nord at heart," Erik said proudly.

"No, I just think if I ever ascended to godhood, I'd want people to grovel at _my_ feet," I replied.

Before either of them could praise my infallible logic, a couple of village guards strolled up the path. For the billionth time I wondered how they saw anything through the chowder cans they used as helmets. Maybe those helmets were the reason they tended to bounce off things instead of helping out when they were needed. Whatever the reason, I figured they deserved a piece of my mind.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Do you realize what awful things are going on in this town? Didn't you hear the ruckus? Where _were_ you?"

The guards stopped and looked at me… at least, I think they were looking at me.

"Let me guess," the first one said. "Someone stole your sweet roll."

I stared back. It suddenly occurred to me why the Jarl put out bounty notices for things like dragons instead of sending her guards to do the job.

"Never mind," I grumbled.

"I've got my eye on you," the guard said.

"Really? I'd never have guessed," I said loudly.

"Go fiddling with any locks around here, and we're going to have a real problem," the guard added.

"What locks? I'm standing in the middle of a three-shack mining camp!"

"Don't cross me, elf."

"You crossed me first!"

"Don't think you can barter with me like I'm one of those dratted shopkeepers."

"Barter? _Barter?_ Did I say _anything_ about money?"

"Disrespect the law, and you disrespect me."

"You're disrespecting my sanity!"

There was a moment of silence. The guards continued to stare at me through the slits in their tin cans.

"Watizit?"

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"

With that, I ran from the village.

"No lollygaggin'!" he shouted after me.

From the village, it was a relatively short walk to our destination, but that didn't mean it was easy. The bounty note listed the dragon's lair as Northwind Summit, meaning we had to drag ourselves hundreds of vertical feet to the highest point in the Rift. Did I mention the wildlife on the way? Bears, I tell you! Sure, they try to warn you away, but it's kind of hard to avoid confrontations on those narrow mountain trails.

We were nearing the peak when Erik finally collapsed. "Are we there yet?" he moaned.

"Almost, so shut up before you give us away," I answered.

"Are there any air conditioning devices for armor?" he wheezed.

"Why don't you go ask the Dwemer? I'm sure they _cooked something up_ before they went extinct. Bahahahahaha!"

Neither of my companions laughed. It looked like Valenwood-style humor wasn't going to be a hit in this forsaken wasteland at all.

"Forsaken wasteland?" Mjoll screeched.

"Oh… did I say that out loud?"

"People say Skyrim is one of the most dangerous places in Tamriel," Mjoll said heatedly. "I think they're wrong. It's magnificent, and I'm proud to call it—"

Her monologue was interrupted by a thunderous roar from somewhere ahead of us.

"Shush," I hissed, pushing them to the ground. "You guys just hang back and let me do the talking, okay?"

"I bet Keerava gets her wish," Mjoll muttered.

"Oh, shut up. The dragon won't bite me. Hey, we're practically family!"

"Ha! I think _I'm_ more your family than any dragon, and that's not something I'd claim anytime soon."

Another roar shattered the peaceful mountain air.

"Trust me," I said. Straightening, I strode confidently up the last few feet of hillside and came up on a flat stretch of ground. The clearing was surrounded by trees and charred houses, and—glory of glories—there was a word wall! I could hear its power sizzling already.

Lounging across the wall was a large white Frost Dragon. He looked all laid-back and chillin', like he'd just snacked on a few cows and was planning on a nice snooze. His beady yellow eyes appraised me hungrily as I approached.

"Heeeeey, there, brother!" I called. "What's up? I'd chat in your language, but the only words I know are offensive shouts, so let's just parlay in human talk, okie-tay?"

The next second, I was frozen in ice particles, and the dragon was wheeling above my head, roaring and screeching unintelligibly. Apparently my human speech was as offensive as my dragon speech.

"HEY! Let's just be friends! I'll bring you juicy cattle, you give me rides and kill my enemies, and we're cool! Hey, are you listening?"

_Twang._

"MJOLL! YOU JUST SHOT A POTENTIAL ALLY IN THE BUTT!"

"He's not an ally, he's trying to kill us!" Mjoll hollered.

"Yeah, _now_ he is!"

_Twang, twang._

"Hey, I actually hit something!" Erik exclaimed.

The dragon bellowed and swooped down, spewing ice everywhere. Hey, I'd be mad too if I had arrows embedded in my posterior. Now I'd never know if we were meant to be friends.

Ducking, Erik stared up at the raging beast. "I think he just said something!"

"Yeah, I think he said his name's Drogfrinklov."

"Some introduction," Erik mused.

"Die, dragon!" Mjoll yelled.

It was like a game of dodge ball, only the ball was a jet of ice and the reward was our lives. We sniped at the silly thing until he crash-landed in a scaly heap in the middle of the clearing. _Now_ maybe he would listen! If I could just get past his thrashing limbs…

"Hey, look," I said, dodging up to his blood-covered head. "I never meant for this to happen, buddy. You just took that little arrow the wrong way. I can get it out, and then how 'bout we—AAAAAACK, MMMMmmmmph…"

Ever jammed the whole upper half of your body into a dragon's mouth? Didn't think so. Let's just say I was thoroughly dazed by the reek billowing up from its throat, even more so than the fangs impaling my gut… nothing a little potion wouldn't fix, I hoped. I promptly decided to shop at Angeline's Aromatics from now on. Then at least I'd have a useful weapon against draconic halitosis.

The next thing I knew, I was flying, and I smashed headlong into the wall. There was a sizzling sound accompanied by the fearsome chant of heroes past, and suddenly I was one dragon word smarter. It didn't make me feel any better. I slid to the base of the wall in a heap of torn flesh and Thieves' Guild armor, wishing I'd come alone. Then maybe that dratted dragon would've listened to me. Trust hirelings to wreck a good adventure.

While Mjoll repeatedly bashed the dragon upside the head, Erik raced to my side and shoved a potion down my throat. It was only seconds before I was cured. Unfortunately, it was too late; Mjoll landed a killing blow, making me look bad. I was the dragonborn, for Talos's sake! If dragons had to die, I ought to be the one bashing 'em.

"Is she alive?" Mjoll called.

"Yep! Once again, alchemy saves the day," Erik replied.

I used him to drag myself to my feet. Something odd was happening; the dragon's corpse was going up in flames and a strong wind began to roar. It was odd, but not unexpected. All at once the strange noise and light engulfed me, and I fell writhing to the ground.

"AAAAAAAAUUUGH!"

"What, what?" Erik gasped. (I noted that instead of trying to help, the little coward jumped away in terror.)

"Nothing… it… aaack! It just…" I squirmed for a moment longer in silence. Then I sat up and took a deep breath. "It just tickles like heck, that's all."

"Soul absorption tickles?" Erik's eyebrows went up.

Mjoll snorted. "That doesn't seem very dignified."

"Shut up," I muttered.

Erik glanced at the wall. "So did you learn a new word?"

"Huh? Oh… oh yeah, I did. Um…" I squinched my eyes up and tried to think. It was hard with them watching me. I was pretty self-conscious about this whole dragonborn thing. I mean, here I was absorbing dragons' souls, and I wondered… did dragons go someplace when they died? Did this automatically make me some kind of heavenly vessel? Somehow I didn't think my essence was very divine. Again, I wondered whether my soul was good or bad, and then, thinking of the dragon's ticklish soul, I realized there were three kinds: the good, the bad, and the fuzzy.

Wait. That would make MY soul fuzzy! I had a dragon soul myself, and—"

"Snap out of it!" Mjoll said sharply. "Your eyes are going all vacant again."

"Mjoll…" I said hesitantly. "I have a very serious question for you."

"Yeah?"

"If you were given a piece of furry, butterscotch-flavored candy, would you eat it?"

Both Mjoll and Erik stared at me.

"Never mind," I mumbled. "Let's go home."

To make a long story short, the trip back was filled with bear fights and companion chatter. The Jarl of Riften—well, her steward, actually—welcomed us back with a purse of gold, which I divided up in my favor. Hey, I was the one who nearly got bitten in half, and it was Mjoll's fault. I was disappointed that I'd come out of it all without a dragon friend, but oh well… I was getting used to it.

We spent the next day loitering at the tavern. Keerava was most disappointed that I'd survived, but I had little concern for her feelings; I was having too much fun with my new "shout." Actually, it was more of a whisper… and it was getting on Mjoll's nerves.

"_Laas_," I hissed. Every living thing in the tavern became a pulsing red glow. "Hey, Keerava, you've got a skeever in your basement!"

"Would you STOP IT?" Mjoll snarled.

"I think it's cool," Erik commented.

"You think baked potatoes are cool," Mjoll shot back.

"I can bake potatoes with my breath," I reminded her.

"Ha. 'Bake' wasn't the word for what happened to those things."

"So they were a little charred!"

"Yeah, so was the shop."

"Hey Mutton-Head," Keerava hollered. "I've got another bounty notice here…"

"I don't want it!" I yelled. "I'm sick of slaughtering reptilian beasts!"

"This one ain't a dragon. It's a giant."

"Even _worse!_ A giant's club does more damage with one swing than a dragon does in a bite!"

"So you want me to tell those other mercenaries about it?"

"WHAT? I have COMPETITION? Gimme that!"

Ah, Riften. It was definitely time to wander on.


	2. Solitude

It was a nice day in Solitude… too nice. The sun was out, birds were wheeling in the clear sky, and every single cheerful soul was out in the streets, enjoying the weather. Well, poop. What I had hoped for was a cloudy, rainy day with lots of dreariness and shadows, the perfect work environment for a woman of my profession. I had come all the way to this city for one purpose—well, two, actually—and what did I get? Sunlight and crowds!

I ambled moodily through the market square with my two buddies, Mjoll and Erik. I'd told them repeatedly on the journey here that they were welcome to leave anytime, that surely they had better things to do than follow me around, but no; Mjoll seemed to have a notion that I couldn't survive on my own, and Erik was determined to get more experience in the hired-sword department. Trust loyal friends to ruin a business opportunity.

"Where are we going again?" Erik asked.

"I _told_ you, the alchemy shop! Seriously, Erik, rule number one in the realm of adventuring is to pay attention. Otherwise you get killed, or worse, eternally lost in a skeever den."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Not as sorry as you'd be if I wasn't around to coach you on these matters. I hope this lecture has AAAAUGH!"

Mjoll smirked at my dust-covered form sprawled on the cobblestones. "Maybe you should learn before you lecture."

"I can't help it if people pile their empty crates in the middle of the road!" I exclaimed indignantly.

"Says the girl who throws her mead bottles in city waterways."

"Nobody walks in a waterway!"

"Oh dear," said an exasperated voice. I looked up from my prone position on the ground to see Evette, the seller of exemplary spiced wines, leaning over her counter to peer at me. "I've been telling the boys to get those crates out of here for two days, but they haven't been around to pick them up. Say, I know you just tripped over them, but I don't suppose you could…?"

"Sorry, Evette," I sighed, sitting up, "but I've got important errands to run."

"Oh, that's okay." She smiled a little. "If you're heading down to the docks, you could still do me a favor that doesn't involve lengthy manual labor."

"Well… maybe." I stood up and dusted off my oh-so-stylish leather armor. I think it was mostly my obvious fashion sense that made people want to hire me for little things like message-running and ingredient-gathering and dragon-slaying. It's hard to pass up an opportunity to have a stylish adventurer do your dirty work. I've found that the swankier you look, the more gold people cough up for your services, especially when you add a practiced evil-eye to your image. Point being, I saw a ripe opportunity to earn a large sum of money for a relatively menial task, and I figured I had the time.

"I just need you to go talk to someone for me," Evette continued. "See, I can't get my next wine shipment until I pay a ridiculous tax, and I wondered if you could—"

"Rough up the tax collector?" I muttered. Well, drat. If she couldn't pay up on her taxes, she sure couldn't pay me. So much for blowing an evening at The Winking Skeever.

"Well, not rough her up, just… talk to her. You know, convince her she doesn't need my gold. There's some free wine in it for you."

Free wine? Hot _dog!_

"Sure, I can do that," I said quickly. "Um, who's the target?"

"Vittoria Vici. You'll either find her around town or down at the docks."

Objective assigned.

"Hey, no problem. I got it covered. She's as good as convinced." Inside, I was chuckling maniacally. This was turning out better than I'd expected. It was a perfect opportunity to observe this Vittoria person, which was necessary if I was going to carry out a Guild job in her house later that night.

"Thanks," Evette said. "Wine's here when you get back."

""Oh-hooo, yes," I muttered, rubbing my hands in anticipation. There were few greater pleasures in life than Evette's spiced wine. In fact, the only two pleasures I found more pleasurable were jazbay muffins and spending five consecutive hours watching a butterfly in a jar.

My companions and I continued on our way towards the main city gate, where most of the shops were clustered. My resolve to buy potions at Angeline's Aromatics hadn't wavered in the slightest. Funny how one whiff of dragon breath could change a girl's shopping habits. Despite the shop owner's drivel about whether or not she actually sold perfumes, I knew I could buy some there. You can buy anything if your eyebrows reach a certain height and your toe taps fast enough.

Sure enough, the old lady was very accommodating. Turns out, with the whole dragon epidemic thing, there was a new, prosperous market for scent-neutralizing agents, and I guess it made sense. When we'd come up the road past Katla's Farm, there had been an enormous pile of dragon droppings steaming in their wheat field. That was one potential job I'd taken a major detour to avoid.

"What exactly are you looking for, dearie?" the old lady asked.

"Um, not much. Just get me some Grade A Breath Busters, a few Mega Dung Neutralizers, and some liquid Gas-Ex. Fifty of each should do the trick."

"Judging by that request, you're either visiting a low-class tavern or fighting dragons," Angeline commented.

"The latter," I answered.

"Well, dear, it'll be a few minutes. I'm brewing several vats in the back room."

Boy, did I know it. The dim little shop reeked of simmering deathbell flowers. "No problem. I'll just browse."

Browsing the shelves of ingredients and potions turned out to be a lot more fun than I expected. I happened to be fairly inept in the alchemy department, but my friends didn't know that. The best part about traveling with uneducated farm boys was that they tended to think I knew everything.

"How do you make potions like this?" Erik asked, holding up a bottle of magicka enhancement.

"Oh, it's simple, really," I replied.

He gave me his usual admiring look. "Do you make potions a lot?"

"Who, me? Of course." I appraised the rows of bottles with a practiced eye. "See, these are easy and quick to make. There's a lot more fun in making the less practical potions."

Dumb kid was hooked. "Like what?"

"Oh, well, there's always love potions and the like."

"Seriously?"

I shot a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Mjoll was out of hearing range. She was engrossed in an alchemy book and wasn't listening.

"Well, not genuine instant love potions, like you read about in fairy tales," I said matter-of-factly. "For instance, one potion gives you a certain scent that makes you irresistibly attractive to females. Just mix some nirnroot with troll fat, add a pinch of charred skeever hide, and boom! No woman in Skyrim is safe."

"That seems like an awfully strange combination," Erik mused, but he looked more interested than perplexed.

Of course, I didn't bother telling him the smell attracted female _trolls._

It wasn't too long before my hundred and fifty potions were ready. As Angeline piled the newly-filled bottles on the counter, I started trying to cram them in my knapsack. It's a magical knapsack that holds any junk that can fit through the opening, but it's temperamental; any load over 350 pounds activates a ridiculous arcane charm that forces me to walk. Some nefarious joke on the manufacturer's part, I guess. I was nearing the weight limit now.

"Why not take some stuff out?" Mjoll suggested.

"NO!" I yelped, snatching the bag out of her reach with a muted clank from the depths of the magic knapsack interior.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Um, I just, uh, I'll do it myself, thanks," I stammered.

Mjoll narrowed her eyes. "Does this have anything to do with that mysterious wood elf we ran into on the road yesterday?"

"No! Hahahaha, no! Of course not! He was just a homeless pauper!"

"You give five hundred gold to every pauper you meet?"

"Whaaat? Why in the world would I give a guy five hundred gold? That was a… bag of juniper berries!"

"Worth five hundred gold," Erik added helpfully.

Mjoll scowled, but she couldn't argue with that, based on the price tags attached to the stuff in the shop.

It took about thirty minutes to shove the potions into my bag. Then it took another thirty minutes to extract the gold I needed to pay for it all. Who knew dragons would make my life so expensive? I needed potions for their smell, potions to keep me going during fights, potions to fix my mangled body after every fight, and then all that lousy weapon and armor repair, not to mention a new horse every time my previous one got eaten.

At last the transaction was complete. We headed out into the fine weather, which was still drattedly clear and devoid of a single raincloud.

I shifted the heavy bag on my shoulder. I was tempted to change my plans, but my special meeting wasn't until 3:00, and I still had to find a way to ditch my pals. Mjoll was the biggest problem. I could easily shove Erik off a dock, but not her. Maybe I could cook up a story to turn her attention elsewhere…

My mind churned this idea as we trudged out the city gate and headed for the docks. Then I got distracted by the salty smell of the sea. What I wouldn't give at that very moment for a fillet of deep-fried slaughterfish! That and juniper pancakes. Yes, when I retired from… whatever it was I was doing in life just then, I'd open a restaurant. Assuming Skyrim was still around, of course. A certain evil dragon had already laid the foundations for his own personal soul buffet, and I still had to squash that competition before I could dream of opening Dovakitchen.

Vittoria Vici was easy to find. When we reached the docks, we found her loitering not far from the East Empire warehouse. I studied her critically as we approached. Well-dressed, bejeweled, and confident-looking… she was certainly rich, but I already knew that; otherwise I wouldn't have been tasked with looting her house. The important detail was that she seemed absent-minded. Once again, I allowed myself an internal giggle of glee. This was going to be the easiest job I ever had.

"Excuse me… Vittoria?" I said, adopting my business voice.

She jumped slightly and peered at me in confusion. "Hmm? Have we met? Sorry, I'm a little distracted. I'm planning my wedding, you see…"

Why did townsfolk insist on treating me to their irrelevant babble? "That's nice," I said quickly. "I need to talk to you about—"

"What I can't decide is whether to wear the white wreath or the blue. I have my dress ready, of course, but there are so many details to work out…"

"Go with white," I cut in. "Listen, there's something I—"

"And then of course there's my fiancé," she continued. "I wouldn't want his colors clashing with mine. And the decorations! Oh, there's just so much to do!"

"That's nice, but why are you telling me?" I sighed.

Vittoria looked surprised. "Oh, well, I'm not sure, really. You just seem like someone easy to confide in."

I tried not to scowl. She seemed to me like the type of person someone would drop a two-ton statue on.

"Right, well, I'm flattered," I replied. "Look, I need to discuss the taxes being imposed on destitute merchants right here in this very city."

Vittoria folded her arms. "Is this about Evette?"

"Um… yes."

"Hmph. Well you can tell her she'll have her shipment when she forks over the money."

"Try to see it from her point of view," I said. "I mean, you're the type of person who's got it made. You're rich. You're probably marrying an even richer guy. But Evette, well… she spends every day just trying to scrape by, and this tax is going to drain her more than that shipment will ever earn her. Don't you see? She needs your help. She needs your mercy. She needs to be exempt from taxes just this once. So join the cause of justice. Please. For Evette."

"Yeah," Vittoria yawned. "I'm not buying that."

I guess the fake tears were a little too much.

Nearby, the traveling bard quit playing his violin and stomped off.

I got up off my knees and brushed at my eyes. "In that case, can I buy you off?"

"Weeeeell… how much are we talking?"

Ten minutes later, I was back at Evette's stall in the market square.

"Vittoria agreed to let you off the hook," I growled.

"Oh, thank you! You've all but saved my business," Evette exclaimed. "You've more than earned the wine."

"I'll say I have," I muttered. As if to seal my rotten luck, I had absolutely no space in my knapsack for the wine, so I had to give each of my companions a whole entire bottle. Mjoll took great pleasure in thanking me for my generosity. I fumed and simmered, but there was nothing I could do; it was about time to meet up with a buddy of mine at the tavern.

"Listen, guys, I have big, important things to do," I said. "Why don't you two go exploring or something? I'm sure there're some kids around here who are just dying to ask random, armor-clad strangers to play tag with them."

"What are you, our mother?" Mjoll griped.

"I'm only thinking of _you,_ Mjoll," I said wearily. "I know how much you hate sitting around warm, friendly taverns full of singing and laughter."

She snorted. "No, I only hate sitting in your insufferable presence while the bards sing about how great the dragonborn is."

"Hey, now," Erik said, holding up his hands. "As traveling companions, we should stick together and try to get along. I say we all go to the tavern and relax."

We both turned to glare at him. "What are you, our father?"

"What? No! I'm just trying to keep the peace, that's all."

"Look, Mister Halo-Head, if anyone's keeping the peace in this darn province, it's me," I huffed. "I'm the dragonborn, and like I said, I have important activities to participate in, not least of which is meeting a friend of mine precisely on time or risk not meeting him at all, so let's go already!" I turned to go and then stopped again. "By the way, Mjoll," I said, doing my utter best to keep a straight face, "I saw something weird earlier."

"Weirder than usual?" she muttered.

"If you want to put it that way," I said crossly. "I just thought you might be interested, seeing as you're bent on stopping crime in Skyrim—"

"Oh no, _you're_ the peace-keeper around here." She imitated me in a shrill, annoying voice that didn't sound like me at all. She couldn't hide her sudden, raging interest, though.

"Okay," I said with a shrug. "I just thought I saw a shady guy casing a few joints down the way. He was probably just a house inspector, of course, if professional inspectors wear hoods and walk with a naturally silent step. Probably nothing. I should just forget about it."

I hid a smirk as Mjoll's eyes blazed with wrath.

"Where exactly did you see this guy?" she demanded.

"Back in the rich part of town… way, _way_ back, near the Blue Palace."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Well, um, I didn't think much of it until now. You know I have a lot on my mind."

Mjoll ground her teeth in exasperation. "Fine. You go waste your time at the tavern while I protect the city from thieves and murderers."

"Take your time, take your time. Oh, and take Erik with you. He could use the experience."

She shook her head. "I'll be more efficient on my own. No offense, Erik."

"None taken," he answered, no doubt out of a strong desire to wallow in a vat of tavern mead.

_Whatever; I can shut him up,_ I thought with an inward snigger. "See you later, then."

Mjoll strode off without a reply.

Erik let his breath out in a whoosh. "She's really in to this crime-stopping business, isn't she?"

"Conveniently so," I replied with fiendish enthusiasm. "Now, let's get inside that tavern."

The Winking Skeever was a warm, friendly place full of laughter and singing. Townsfolk lounged about while Lisette the bard flaunted her lute skills, and there was much chatter and sloshing of beer mugs. I walked in casually enough, but my eyes darted about, seeking the subject of my appointment. Ah, there he was. The Argonian fellow was putting on a casual air as well, despite his antisocial seat in the corner. With Erik in tow, I sauntered over to the corner in question and sank down in a chair.

"Good afternoon," the Argonian said, eyeing my companion with suspicion.

"Wazzup," I answered. "Say, Erik, you want to grab us some mead?"

"Sure," he said, so conveniently eager to please. I tossed him some gold. As soon as he walked away, I turned to the Argonian, who was now smirking.

"You have some interesting friends," he said in amusement.

"Yeah, and you're not the least of them," I shot back. "Listen, I've got some serious junk to get rid of…"

"Nothing's more interesting than stolen goods."

"Ah, well, it's not stolen, but it _is_ illegal, and I managed to buy it at an astonishingly cheap rate," I said quietly.

Galum-Ei waved a hand towards the bar. "And your friend, there… can he be trusted?"

"Erik? Well, if he's not trustworthy, he's at least easy to keep quiet," I assured him. "Guys who aren't used to wearing heavy armor are particularly easy to push off bridges."

"I see," Galum-Ei replied. "In that case, let's see what you have."

I set my knapsack on the table with a dull clank. "This might take a minute," I apologized as I began to rummage through the mess inside. I shoved my arm in up to my shoulder, trying to work my way past the avalanche of anti-stink potions and various bits of jewelry I'd picked off of dead bandits. I had to bite back a screech as I nicked my wrist on the blade of a glass axe I'd won off a roadside marauder, and then I really did screech when I ran my palm onto a set of steel arrows. Bear pelts, a broken jar of spriggan sap, half-eaten honey nut treats, empty wine bottles, loose change, a decaying giant's toe, rusty daggers, Dwemer scrap metal, dog meat… ah, there it was! With much grunting and tugging, I worked the rough sack up to the top of the bag, grimacing as muted thumps and clatters and bangs issued from within.

"Discretion is the key," Galum-Ei said dryly.

"Mm-hmm," I muttered distractedly. "Ah, here we go…"

"Got the mead," Erik said from right behind me.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaugh—aaah, ha ha haaaa, good one! I'll have to remember that," I wheezed. "How does it go again?" After a quick glance around, I yanked Erik down into a seat and passed Galum-Ei one of the mead bottles. "To good fortune," I added, uncorking my own bottle and taking a huge swig to calm my nerves.

"Perhaps we should just get this over with," Galum-Ei suggested wearily.

"Yes! To business." I chunked my knapsack on the floor and began opening the complicated network of straps on the smaller bag. It was my special ill-gotten goods sack, and I had gone to great lengths to make it inaccessible to all but my own talented fingers.

I noticed Erik watching me interestedly.

"Here's a good learning opportunity," I said. "Sometimes survival involves secrecy, particularly between good friends. Sometimes keeping a secret can save a friend's life… and more importantly, her looks. You don't want to see me with a fist in my face or a sword through my liver, do you?"

"Well, no, of course not," Erik said in surprise.

"Good. In that case, let's not tell that party-pooper about this little shindig, okay?"

"Who, Mjoll?"

"Well, duh!"

"Why not? Is this a shindig?" He frowned. "What's a shindig?"

Galum-Ei was choking into his mead bottle. I kicked him under the table.

"What I mean is," I said with forced patience, "Mjoll might not approve of me doing business with this guy." I finished unlacing the sack and peered briefly in at the contents. Then I squinted at the Argonian. "You have the pre-agreed amount for this particular item?"

"I do, but you may want to consider some goods I have with me before you take your gold and run," he answered. "I have some fine wares at the moment."

"Eh, well, okay. But let me show you this first…"

I pulled open the sack to reveal a glint of opaque glass bottles. I had been extra-careful with them, even going so far as to pad them with some of my unwashed clothes. None of them seemed to have broken.

"There's twenty-eight of them," I whispered.

"Fine, fine, I trust you. Now—"

"That's what I thought," said an all-too-familiar voice behind me.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" With my scream of startled horror, my arm knocked into the sack, sending bottles clanking and rolling across the floor. I dived down under the table and scrambled to collect them, only to knock heads with Erik, who was trying to help. Now my head was spinning and I saw twice as many bottles as before. "What? You thought what?" I gasped, struggling to hold all the bottles and scoot out from under the table at the same time. "I swear, you've got it all wrong!"

The noise in the tavern had faltered, and many glances were coming our way. Towering over me, Mjoll stood with her arms folded and her brow deeply furrowed.

"I don't think so," she said darkly. "I asked tons of people if they'd seen that character you mentioned, and all their accounts led me straight back to you."

"Ha ha, _me?_ Heavens, what next?" I babbled. "No, I'm sure it was someone else. How would I have seen myself loitering around the rich people's houses?"

"With you, it's possible," Mjoll growled.

I realized she was too irritated with my false story to notice that I'd been exchanging contraband with a shady Argonian, and I needed a quick means of keeping it that way. "Um, uh, hey! Hey, look! Honningbrew Mead, twenty percent off! Gee, Mjoll, just to apologize, I'll give you some money to treat yourself. I promise I won't jump to conclusions anymore."

"You can bet your sorry dragon-slaying butt you won't," she said sourly, but instead of hitting me like I thought she was going to, she just snatched the meager offering of gold out of my hand and stomped off to the bar.

"Um, ha ha, well, yes," I said, using the edge of the table to drag myself upright. Dumping my armload of bottles on the rough wooden surface, I started trying to cram them back into the sack. Erik, still looking dazed from our head collision, tried to help some more, but I slapped his hands away, figuring he'd just cause another disaster.

Galum-Ei watched with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Perhaps you'd like to examine my merchandise later. I'm sure we can schedule a time when you're in less… company."

I chuckled grimly. "Are you kidding? I've been trying to ditch Mjoll for weeks, but for all her badmouthing and grouching, she seems determined to keep me alive. I can't imagine why. I mean, all I did was bring back her stupid sword, and now it's like she's made herself my personal bodyguard."

Erik coughed a little. I frowned at him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"_What?"_

"Nothing!"

"WHAT?"

"_Nothing!"_

"_WHAAAAT?"_

"NOTHING!"

"FUS—"

"Okay, okay!" Erik yelped, throwing up his hands. "I just thought what you said was funny because in reality, well…"

"Is this yours?"

"Aaaaaaagh—whaaaat?" I shrieked, whirling around. Standing there was one of the local drunks; I didn't know him personally, but I'd seen him around. He was holding one of my special little bottles. I studied him for a moment, calculating. He seemed like your average, vacant-eyed farmer whose thoughts revolved around nothing more than soil quality, which probably meant I could bluff my way out if he got too nosy.

"I found it on the ground," he added.

"Oh, why yes! How kind of you," I gushed, reaching out to snatch the bottle. I darted my eyes from side to side, checking for more escaped bottles. I didn't see any.

The farmer blinked slowly. "What is that stuff, anyway?"

"Well, it's… mead! Yes, a new brand of mead. I've been working on it for a while, and my friend here is giving me a professional opinion on its development. But, uh, don't say anything, okay? I'm only telling you because you were so kind to help me out."

"Well, now," the farmer said, his eyes brightening a little. "I'm a bit of a mead connoisseur, myself. It takes a talented hand to craft the best drinks these days. In fact, my old dad, he works over in Riften, for them Black-Briar folks."

"Really? How nice," I choked. "But like I said, this new recipe is supposed to be a secret, so no need to mention it to your old dad, okay?"

"Heh," the farmer chuckled. "I've never been part of a mead conspiracy before. Say, if you need any more professional tips, I'd be happy to help. I can tell a great brew from an average one any day."

To my horror, a couple of other farmers loitering nearby happened to overhear this. They slouched over and peered at me with interest.

"Hey now, neighbor," the bearded one drawled. "Did you say something about great mead?"

"Yeah, 'cuz the stuff around here ain't up to scratch," the extra-bearded guy agreed.

"Yep," said Farmer #1. "This little lady's inventing somethin' special, but don't say anything. It's a secret." He winked at me and lowered his voice. "So what d'you call it?"

My heart was thudding so loudly at this point that I nearly chugged a healing potion, but then I remembered I wasn't dying… yet. "I call it… I call it Skoo… ooo… ooo…"

"Skoo?"

"Skooooo… rumdiddly-umptious," I choked out.

Behind me, Galum-Ei stood up and cleared his throat. "If you have any of your, ah… _mead_ left by tomorrow, I'll be loafing around the docks. Good day." And with that, the stupid lizard left me stranded with the pack of thirsty farmers.

"What a spoilsport!" Farmer #1 exclaimed. "Tell ya what, elf. If that wet blanket don't want t' help you out, I will. Like I said, I'm pretty well-versed in the art of mead-making…"

"I couldn't possibly trouble you," I wheezed.

"It ain't no trouble."

"I'm sure you have plenty of things to do…"

"I'm off for the evening."

"Us too," chimed the Beard Brothers.

"Why don't you let them help you out?" Erik butted in.

"Drink your mead!" I snapped.

Farmer #1 apparently misinterpreted this and plucked the small bottle out of my hands. "Don't mind if I do."

"_Meep,"_ I squeaked.

The farmer popped the top off the bottle and took a long swig. Then he paused and smacked his lips a little. One of his eyes kind of squinted up. After a few seconds, he took another swig, and then another. At this point both eyes were twitching and he had kind of a jittery tick going in his fingers.

"Hmm," he said after a long minute. "Y'know, I don't think I can judge this on just one taste. You don't have another sample, do you?"

"Um… well… yes, but…"

"Hey, don't be a hog!" Farmer #2 hollered. "It's _my_ turn!"

He and his friend held out their hands. What choice did I have? Okay, maybe I could've just run for it, but I was getting more and more convinced that I'd rather just be rid of the stuff. See if I ever bought gigantic batches of drugs off of roadside wood elves again.

Farmers 2 and 3 eagerly grabbed the bottles I offered them and started guzzling. Just as they began to twitch and spasm, Mjoll strode back over, carrying a couple of bottles of Honningbrew. She glanced from Erik to me to the farmers, her eyes narrowing.

"What's this?"

"What's what?" I said innocently.

"_This,"_ she growled, waving her hand at the vibrating farmers.

"It's… mead," I answered.

"What _kind_ of mead? Were you experimenting with alchemy again?"

"I thought we established that I'm not your mother and Erik isn't our father, so we can logically assume you're not my mother, either," I said, crossing my arms. "If you don't like hanging around me, then go away."

"Ever since you came along, I've been promoted from 'protector of Riften' to 'protector of Skyrim," Mjoll huffed.

My jaw dropped. "WHAT? You're protecting Skyrim from _me?_ What _for?"_

"H-H-Hey, th-this s-stuff is-s g-great," Farmer #1 exclaimed. "H-Hey, ev-v-verybod-dy, th-this lad-dy's a m-mead-br-brewing g-g-genius!"

"What?"

"Mead?"

"Is she passing out free mead?"

"Hey, toss some over here!"

"Sure, take it!" I hollered. "Come and get it! Skoo-rumdiddly-umptious, limited time only! Free samples!"

Within the next thirty seconds, there was a riot in The Winking Skeever. Tables and chairs overturned with loud crashes, crockery shattered, wall hangings collapsed, ale kegs burst on the ground in frothy floods, and food splattered the ceiling. There was much shouting and shoving and biting and kicking, so eventually I just tossed the whole contents of my "mead" sack out into the crowd. Then the drinking began.

"Here, guys… I saved some just for you," I said, handing my two buddies a bottle each.

"Wow, thanks!" Erik said.

"Do I dare discover the secret of your success?" Mjoll muttered.

"Please do," I answered, and with that, I sat back, kicked up my feet, and watched the entire lot of tavern patrons spasm out of control. I could almost hear the buzz of energy throughout the room. It was only a second or two before Erik joined in the chaos; he disappeared in a mob of guys who were now hopped up on alcohol _and_ skooma. Hmm… I'm sure some alchemist somewhere would love to know the effects of mixing alcohol and moon sugar. I could put it in a recipe book for my future restaurant! What should I call this marvelous book?

I stopped thinking about it when I saw that Mjoll had dipped her finger in her "mead" bottle and tasted the stuff. Her eyes kind of bugged out, and then, apparently against her will, her hand defied her and brought the bottle to her mouth. Caught in a battle of wills and morals, she lost miserably; the next second, she was dancing on a table with Farmer #2. Some mage guy in the crowd turned all the firelight different colors, and soon the entire population of Solitude had piled into the tavern to invent the world's next most popular dance sensation.

_Is Elsweyr like this year-round?_ I wondered.

Ah, well. I was down five hundred gold, but this was definitely worth it. As a bonus, Mjoll would be too out of it to follow me to Vittoria's house later that night, so I'd steal what I needed to make up my losses. This wasn't such a lousy day after all.


	3. Bloodlet Throne

**Skyrim 3**

**Bloodlet Throne**

Sometimes paranoid people are good for something. And sometimes, obviously, they're not. I couldn't decide which category Dengeir fell into. I'd just stolen a letter for him from Falkreath's blacksmith, and he was busy muttering about how none of it made sense. Whatever. Couldn't he just pay me and be done with it? My head hurt; I was seriously regretting that Solitude dance party. It had taken a fast carriage, two giants, and a rabid sabercat to rid us of a farmer who, under the influence of alcohol and drugs, had convinced Mjoll to marry him, and Mjoll herself was not speaking to me (thank the gods). On top of that, Erik kept breaking down in spasms at the worst times. Like now. He lay twitching on the ground, muttering about muffins and putting a big black mark on my reputation.

I flinched as Dengeir turned his slightly wild eyes on me. The old man looked capable of having a seizure himself. Would Erik's embarrassing affliction cut down on my salary?

"Well, it don't look like Lod's up to anything treasonous," Dengeir wheezed. He jumped suddenly, took a few wild swings at the air, and then, panting, realized there were no spies to pummel. "Ahem. Yes, yes, here you go…"

I huffed as a huge sack of gold was chunked into my hands. Guess I wouldn't have to lose Erik in a draugr tomb after all. Heck, maybe the old man felt sorry for me, seeing what I had to put up with. I hitched on a sickly smile and backed away.

"Well, thanks. See ya."

"Wait just a minute!" Dengeir snapped. "It's obvious now that you're trustworthy, so maybe you'd like to do something else for me…"

I opened my mouth to announce that my community service was over for the day, but he mowed me down with a deluge of spit flecks.

"Don't say a word about this!" he warned. "One of my ancestors has escaped from his grave!"

"Ha. You should try the barrows this time of year," I answered in my best world-weary tone. "Must be Sovngarde's mead hall not paying the rent or something."

"Not draugr, you idiot!" Dengeir screeched. "My ancestor was… is… a…" He paused and glanced around. Then he leaned forward and misted me with noontime mammoth steak: "A _vampire."_

Near my feet, Erik stopped twitching and sat up to stare at us. "Vampire?"

"Shut up, fool!" Dengeir hollered, dancing on the spot with rage. "Keep your voice down!" He struggled to follow his own advice. In a hoarse whisper, he added, "This vampire is an embarrassment to my family. I want you to get out there and kill him. Kill him, y'hear?"

Embarrassment to the family, eh? This coming from the guy who'd been booted off his own throne. Not to mention the guy whose nephew was an incompetent, slouching sass-mouth who had offered me thaneship in exchange for a dead bandit and a bottle of booze. I put my hands on my hips and looked down at Erik, who blinked a few times in a dazed fashion.

"I'm not sure my hired help here is up to facing undead blood-suckers," I said. "I'll kill the vampire guy if you'll chain Erik down in Falkreath."

"What? No!" Erik protested, leaping to his feet and promptly falling on his face. Sputtering, he glanced desperately around for Mjoll, who had wandered off some time ago. No support there. He turned beseeching eyes back on me. "I'll be fine, I promise! I need the experience! I've never even seen a vampire before!"

"Exactly," I muttered. "Whatever, kid, but it's your funeral."

"Oh, good!" Erik sighed. Then he kind of frowned, as if the whole idea had just sunk in.

"Vampires," I grouched. "I'll never understand what the deal is. I mean, if a snake bites you, you don't turn into one." I paused. "Not that I know of, anyway."

Dengeir started hopping in place again. "Just get it done, for cryin' in the bucket!"

"Fine. MJOLL!"

My grumpy sidekick—not that I'd ever call her that to her face—was loitering around the blacksmith's porch, yakking away to the fellow I'd just robbed. She cast me a dirty look, said something to Lod, and stomped over to me.

"What?"

In answer, I threw her some black robes, plastic fangs, a dark cape, some night vision goggles, a jar of tomato juice, a few garlic cloves, some torches and gasoline, a bundle of stakes, and a Make-Your-Own Cure Disease Potion Kit I got on sale from a most-likely-but-probably-not reputable Khajiit on the streets outside the city. I threw the same load of junk at Erik, who lost all progress in staggering to his feet and collapsed yet again.

"We're going vampire hunting," I informed her.

"And what's this code for, 'make-your-own-skooma?" Mjoll asked, shaking the potion kit.

"How thare you questh-ion my inthegrithy?" I demanded, trying to fit my own set of fake fangs into my mouth. "Thith ith therious buithness." The fangs would work nicely. I popped them out, wiped them on my sleeve, and stuffed them in my pocket. "Let's go."

It was a long, perilous journey to the vampire lair, sinisterly known as "Bloodlet Throne." As we trekked through deep snow, fended off ceaseless wildlife attacks, and threw ourselves fruitlessly against steep inclines, I was well aware of Mjoll's radiating skepticism and Erik's mixture of terror and eagerness. Maybe I was being too generous, letting them come along and all. As the Dragonborn, I'm perfectly capable of winning my own battles, and letting these two weirdos tag along was purely out of the kindness of my heart. Erik would gain unique experience from my company and Mjoll would get to be the author of my biography. I was almost overwhelmed by my own generosity.

I slithered out of the third snowdrift I'd fallen in to and peered ahead. The fort loomed before us, all bleak, dark stone and dreary décor. Torn pennants flapped in the wind and wooden beams creaked ominously. This was the place that housed a troop of sharp-toothed, sharp-eyed, sharp-eared, and probably-but-maybe-not sharp-witted freaks, and we were about to walk willingly into their midst, to risk life and limb for the honor of Falkreath's most prominent citizen. Wait… in that case, what the heck was I thinking? _Gold,_ I reminded myself. _Shiny, clinky gold,_ as a freaky roadside jester had once put it. Dengeir's honor could rot, for all I cared.

I shut my mouth as Mjoll cast me a threatening glance. Sometimes I have a tendency to monologue these things out loud without realizing it.

"We need to plan our entrance," Mjoll said.

"Got it covered," I replied. "We'll just walk in the front door."

"Is… is that really a good idea?" Erik asked.

I gave a great, whooping sigh of impatience. "In _disguise,_ you dimwit. Like so." I dropped my magic knapsack in the snow, rummaged about, and pulled out my robes, cape, and fake fangs. Then I jumped behind a snow drift. I shed pieces of armor, flinging them at my companions' heads with as much accuracy as I could manage while shivering in my dragon-patterned undergarments, and within moments I reappeared, looking very vampire-ish in stylish black robes and my reversible cape that was basic black on one side and blood-red on the other. I smiled, revealing pristine fangs.

"Wha-thoo you think?" I asked, pausing to wipe a bit of drool from my lip.

"Oh, very convincing," Mjoll said with all the exquisite sarcasm she possessed. "Even if a real vampire fell for that, there's one thing you're forgetting."

"And that is…?"

"Scent. Vampires will smell your blood a mile away."

"Oh, I planned for that too," I said airily. After a moment's rummaging in the knapsack of fathomless depths, I produced a large, neatly-labeled container with a snap-on cap and a twisty thing on the bottom. "See," I said proudly. "Human Reek Replacer. _Effective against vampires, werewolves, relentless admirers, and chickens. Not for use on children. Not tested on skeevers. Do not swallow. In case of oral consumption, contact local alchemist. Purposefully concentrating and inhaling product can result in cerebral damage or death._ I gave the container a little shake. "The only kind they had left was 'Draugr Breath,' so it'll have to do." With that, I popped off the cap, shoved the deodorant stick into my armpit, and rubbed vigorously.

"Whooooo-aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgh!" Erik howled, falling flat on his back with his hands over his nose.

"Is it working?" I asked, transferring the Reek Replacer to my other armpit.

"Stop it, stop it, it works!" Mjoll gasped. She sank to her knees, choking and gagging beside a half-conscious Erik.

Was it really that bad? My nose was too cold to really smell anything right then. I put the cap back on the Reek Replacer and tossed it back in my knapsack. "So d'you think it's good enough to fend off vampires?" Curious, I stuck my nose up my sleeve and took a great, snorting whiff.

Thump, thump, thump… thump, thump, _thump._

I opened my eyes and saw gray sky above me, along with the silhouette of an angry woman kicking me in the ribs. I seemed to be lying on cold, hard stone in the shadow of the fort's crumbling walls.

"What's going on? What did you do to me?" I gasped, sitting up fast and knocking heads with Erik, who had just bent over me.

Little dragons spun round and round my head for the next ten minutes.

"For your information," Mjoll said from some distant planet, "I found some leftover Anti-Stink Potion in your bag and smeared some under each of our noses so we could survive your overpowering stench. I tried pouring the rest down your sleeves, but couldn't quite neutralize that disgusting stuff. I hope you've learned your lesson."

"Ha! You'll sing a different tune when 'that disgusting stuff' saves our lives." I picked myself up and dusted snow off my vampire outfit. "Speaking of vampire garments," I continued, "you guys should put on your disguises."

"Um… no," Mjoll answered.

Usually when I draw myself up and flare my nostrils, people do what I say, but Mjoll was an exception. Maybe I didn't look as convincing with plastic fangs poking out over my bottom lip. I briefly considered biting her and decided it wasn't in my best interest.

"O-_kay,_ then what're you going to do?" I sighed. Then it hit me: a brilliant, shining idea. "HOLD IT! You two can be my hypnotized vampire thralls! All you have to do is follow me around and look stupid… not too hard, right?"

Hmm… little dragons were circling again. I stared up at the cloudy sky in a dazed stupor.

"Uh, Mjoll… she might have a point," I heard Erik mutter from a long way away. "At least that way we could look fairly normal and not have to smell like decomposing monsters."

"Well, when you put it that way…" she replied. "Fine, we'll be your thralls. Not that your disguise will fool anyone anyway."

"Juth watth," I mumbled through a mouthful of crooked fangs.

Once my disguise was properly adjusted, I led the way towards the fort entrance, silently reviewing my combat strategies. One: construct makeshift garlic-launcher. Two: prepare flammable materials. Three: sharpen stakes. Four: as a last resort, use the—

"Would you shut up?" Mjoll snapped.

Oops. I was talking out loud again.

"You are aware that most of that stuff doesn't really work, right?" she asked.

"Of course it does! I'm a self-taught vampirologist."

"And what were your references, exactly?"

"Um. You know, books and stuff." I scowled, sensing my hoard of vampire knowledge quickly turning inside out. If what Mjoll said was true, then it was also unlikely that vampires sparkled. What a rotten disappointment.

The door creaked ominously as I pushed it open. Dank, musty air drifted out of the gloom beyond, instantly activating my sinus problems. Erik offered me a handkerchief. Well, the kid was good for some things… even though there was no telling where the hankie had been. I cleared my nasal cavity and gave the soiled hankie back to Erik, who not-so-surreptitiously tossed it away. I was about to loudly proclaim that dragon-sized boogers were not _my_ fault when Mjoll slapped a hand over my mouth.

"Look," I hissed through a gap in her fingers, "a lowly thrall wouldn't bully her vampire mistress, okay?"

"Just don't do anything stupid," she hissed back.

"Hey, I've got this. Zombie faces, you two!" I pushed Mjoll's restraining hand away and set off down the nearest dank, musty hallway, enjoying the sinister flap of my cape. Then I suddenly wondered if I was going about this _too_ stylishly. The vampires might not attack me out of bloodthirstiness, but what if they attacked me out of jealousy? I might have to organize a drawing to decide which vampire got my cape, and if that wasn't enough, I'd have to give away my trendy robes and possibly my hand in marriage. That, of course, would ruin my disguise altogether. In that case, a little smooth-talking might get me a life as a dark vampire woman rather than death as an unrecognizable, deflated appetizer… it was worth a shot.

With my skeptical partners behind me, I came to a flight of stairs leading downward. I chanced a glance over my shoulder. Mjoll's face was set in a scowl while Erik—whether out of bad acting or abject terror, I didn't know—was slack-jawed and vacant-eyed with a bit of drool sliding down his chin.

"Thralls aren't _that_ dopey," I whispered, but he didn't respond.

Then I realized the cause of his sudden I.Q. drop. A vampire lady from the hot n' spicy department was swaggering up the stairs, smiling fiendishly at our sorry little threesome. I rolled my eyes. Why was it that some vampires were old and wrinkly and ugly while some were capable of turning dumb guys like Erik into mindless slaves? And why did one have to be a vampire to do that? Every time I tried the seduction routine to get a job done—or even to get just one date to The Bannered Mare's Karaoke Night— men suddenly developed excellent physical capabilities and showed it off by sprinting to the next city. If I wanted to have any hope left, I might have to swallow my pride here and now and ask this fanged beauty for lessons.

"Excuse me," I said as clearly as I could through the plastic fangs. "I'm new to the ranks and require guidance. Could you tell me where I might find the beauty parlor… and where I might greet the head of this fine establishment?"

"Oh, but of course," the vampire said. "Why don't you three follow me? You can tell me all about yourselves on the way."

Well, that was easy. "Come on, slaves," I commanded.

"Right this way," the vampire said, setting off down the stairs. "There's a marvelous room down here where my friends and I can give you the most exquisite makeover."

"We should kill her _now,_" Mjoll muttered.

"How DARE you suggest such a thing?" Erik exploded. "I'll kill you first!"

"She's going to kill US, you idiot!"

"How could you say that?"

The next thing I knew, Erik had tackled Mjoll, and the two tumbled about on the grimy floor like a couple of vampire toddlers. "Kill the vampire!" Mjoll hollered at me as she seized Erik in a strangling headlock.

I glanced at Miss Vampire. "Sorry… these two are pretty new in the thrall department."

"Perfect," the vampire said. She suddenly pulled me around a corner and snapped her fingers. As expected, a couple of vampire servants came trotting out of the shadows with all the equipment needed to make me gorgeous—no wait, those were knives! Wait a second! What about my Draugr Breath Reek-Replacer? Wasn't that throwing them off at all? Then again, draugr and vampires were both in the undead category… maybe they shared the same smell. And a major aversion to fire, as I recalled in the nick of time.

I took a deep breath and released it in a massive burst of dragon-fire, shaking dust loose from the walls and sending vampires howling and writhing all over the place. That was the good part. The bad part was that I'd failed to notice the greasy splotches on the floor and ominous lanterns hanging overhead—a sure sign of death by inferno. With my flaming release, the whole cavernous chamber exploded in waves of heat, sending me and my companions head over heels into a pile of skeletons in the corner.

"Aaaaaaaaaagh!" Erik screeched as he repeated a stop, drop, and roll routine. When that failed, he panicked and started hopping around, slapping himself and hollering; then he saw the pile of skulls leering at him and _really_ flipped out, rebounding off walls in his efforts to escape the whole unfortunate situation.

In contrast, Mjoll remained in a silent heap amidst the dusty bones, clearly wondering whether or not she should bother to continue on this venture.

"Your hair's on fire," I said, hoping casual conversation would cool her temper.

It didn't.

Erik finally whomped his head on a low, splintered beam and sprawled on his back, wheezing and glassy-eyed.

"OH-kay, guys," I said, holding up my hands, "so we've had a little setback. If you aren't too scorched, we should just—ooh! Treasure chest!" I darted forward and heaved Erik away from the wall, where a cobweb-covered chest sat in all its glory. I broke twenty lockpicks and finally heaved the top up with a creak. "Hahahahahahaaaaaaa! Gold! Perfectly good weapons! And… _what?_ An IRON helmet? Is this a joke? I'm _way_ past basic armor, you stupid bucket of loot! Where's the elven stuff? Glass stuff? Hel-LO?" I kicked the chest and flung the helmet away with a loud clang.

"Listen," Mjoll said in that slow, menacing voice that made me feel like I was back in Valenwood with my overbearing mother, "I've had it with this. With or without you, I'm going to finish killing these vampires."

"You can't do it without me," I said primly. "Didn't I just save all of us with my awesome powers?"

"You nearly killed us!" Mjoll limped over to Erik and heaved him to his feet. He kind of shivered and whimpered for a moment before a bit of clarity returned to his eyes.

"Hey… I just had the weirdest dream about a gorgeous brunette…" he mumbled.

"Aw, that's sweet of you," I answered, patting him on the head. "Now, shall we continue?"

I didn't really give them time to answer. My disguise was still intact, with only mild singeing on my cape and robes, and I figured I still had a chance to get through this place without any more fighting. If only my stupid thralls weren't so stupid. I set off at once, leaving them to stumble along in my heroic wake. Mjoll thought she could do a better job than me? Ha! I smirked in triumph as I sauntered past the smoking vampire corpses.

I transferred into stealth mode and was instantly irritated by the clumsy clank of my companions' not-so-sneaky footsteps behind me. I wondered what the odds were of knocking them out and leaving them behind. Instead of devising a method of doing so, I gritted my teeth and pulled out my awesome ebony bow, feeling Mjoll's suspicious gaze burning a hole in my back. I think she was finally starting to suspect my true nature, what with my light, sneaky-person armor, knack for archery, and tendency to scream at high pitches when she went near my knapsack. Well, whatever. I was tired of pretending to be the honorable warrior she (and everyone else in Skyrim) seemed to think I was.

To make a long journey short, we crept through some snowy tunnels, and when my disguise failed—not out of any fault of mine, I'm sure— I managed to take out a few vampire creeps with my bow. The others came barreling towards us with fanged snarls on their pasty faces. As I pulled out my daggers, I imagined my patented fight moves striking home in slow motion. They were much cooler than Mjoll flailing around with her dumb battleaxe. Why did she even bother with that thing when I had gone to all that trouble to get her fancy sword back? I don't know why she got to call _me_ weird—

"Would you pay attention?" Mjoll barked.

I paused, realizing I was blissfully performing slow-mo moves at invisible opponents. The vampires lay dead around us. Of course, Dengeir's ancestor wouldn't be among them—guys like that tended to be at the very end of each dungeon, basking in their uber-powerfulness amongst swarms of bats and ethereal beams of light. I sighed, figuring we might as well get it over with.

"Come on, thralls," I muttered. "Our quarry is near! I said, let's go. Erik. Erik, stop admiring your way-too-clean-for-a-farmer fingernails!"

Erik glanced at me with wide eyes. "Uh… yeah. Um, actually—"

"Enough chatter." I led the way towards the final chamber of the ruined fort, mentally preparing myself. This vampire was likely to be much stronger than the trifling enemies we had encountered so far, and judging from recent experience, my disguise was no longer a viable option. Oh, well. No reason I couldn't continue to look stylish while I struggled for my life.

"Wait," Mjoll said in her usual party-pooperish manner. "I think you should realize by now that proper planning—"

"Look, _thrall,_" I huffed, whirling to face her, "I'm the Dragonborn. I don't die. Got it?"

"I'm not exactly worried about you," she growled.

"Oh, Erik? Hey, I told him not to come, but, as previously established, none of us are each other's mother, so I didn't sit him in a corner like I wanted to. Maybe he should sit right here if he's going to wet himself over a Master Vampire."

"No, I'll come," Erik said in a rather doomed-sounding voice.

"You don't have to," Mjoll said, all sugar and sweetness towards His Babyness.

"I _said,_ I'll come," he insisted.

"Okay!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands. "That's settled. Let's go!"

At that very moment, a bone-chilling howl wavered down the passageway. Large, angry wolves? Hmm.

Ignoring my companions, I tiptoed towards the sound. The hall opened into a large, frigid chamber with a pit that housed a couple of wolf cages. Above that was a throne containing one pompous vampire. He looked like your typical black-robed bad boy, complete with blank-faced thrall to serve him.

Well, there was only one way to go about this. My chances of sneaking up on him or killing him with one shot were pretty slim. Actually, I'd always thought it slightly strange that my enemies often kept fighting when they had arrows sticking out of their faces… maybe I was cursed. Oh wait, I _was_ cursed. Cursed with a terrible fate. I suppose I should have expected my Dragonborn life to be tragic, but still, when I opened that Book of Fate in Calixto's museum and saw blank page after blank page… it was a terrible epiphany, that knowledge that I controlled my own destiny and that, subsequently, faulty bow shots were entirely my fault.

With the knowledge of my doom heavy upon my shoulders, I stepped forward and raised my arms, flinging back my tattered cape. I bared my plastic fangs in the face of destiny, laughing at the notion that this silly vampire could inflict any harm on _me,_ the Dragonbor—

I collapsed under a writhing pile of angry wolves.

"YAAAAAH!" Mjoll bellowed as she came to my rescue.

She and Erik engaged the wolves while I scrambled up and wiped dog drool off my face. The nasty old vampire was coming towards me with a hungry expression… did he smell the leftover honey-nut treats in my knapsack? No, wait… he wanted my blood! I took a swipe at him with my dagger, but he grabbed me by the throat and slowly began to squeeze the life out of me.

Erik and Mjoll were still battling the wolves and couldn't help me. My short, heroic life passed before my eyes, including that embarrassing incident with the hagraven and the wedding ring. The only thing lingering in my future was existence as a deflated carcass in this cold, lonely place with only old bleached bones for company.

At the very moment my vision started to waver, I vaguely noticed the cranky vampire eyeing me strangely. His malevolent eyes took in my robes, cape, fangs, and arsenal of anti-vampire equipment. For a second or two he did nothing, and I wondered if he was stunned by my clever disguise. Perhaps he would at least be impressed enough to make me his dark vampire mistress.

Quite suddenly, his hand loosened and he fell to the ground, laughing hysterically.

I was too offended to be grateful for the oxygen coursing into my lungs.

"Oh yeah? Well, here's what I think of you!" And I stabbed the insulting creep.

By that time, my pals had chopped the wolves into teeny bits, and they both stood there panting and sweating and pretty much amazed by my fighting prowess. I shook off the irritation of being laughed at and faced them triumphantly. "You see? I told you my disguise would come in handy."

I watched Mjoll's face as she searched for a way to contradict me. Finally she just shook her head. "You're crazy."

"At least you can go home victorious," Erik said gloomily.

I scowled. "What's with you?"

"Well… this." He held up his hand and showed us two fang marks on his wrist. "Guys, I… I hate to say it, but…" He took a deep breath. "It's the end. I'll have to stay here forever. It was… it was nice knowing you. Really. If you ever see my dad, tell him I—"

"Erik," I said, rolling my eyes. "I brought that cure disease potion kit, remember?"

"Huh?"

"Give it to me," Mjoll said. "You stink at alchemy."

"Ex_cuse_ me," I snapped back. "At least I have _some_ experience." I dug the kit out of my knapsack and carried it back the way we had come, stopping at the alchemy station in one of the well-furnished vampire bedrooms. I unpacked the box, setting out ingredients and tools. Hmm… this didn't look like a run-of-the-mill cure disease potion… but what did I know? I started mixing ingredients.

"What's this?" Mjoll asked, picking up a small packet of grainy stuff.

"It's moon sugar," I said absently.

"Um… what sugar?"

"Moon—ah, moon sugar," I answered, wrinkling my nose.

"Moon sugar."

"Yep."

"Let me see that box," she said in that voice that usually means she's about to flip out.

"What? What's wrong?" Erik demanded. "You can cure me, right?"

With a bubble and a hiss, my potion was complete. I sniffed it. Tasted it. "Ah. Well. Um… this stuff might at least make you feel better until I, um… get a cure disease potion."

"WHY DID YOU BUY THIS FROM A SHADY KHAJIIT?" Mjoll exploded, throwing the box at my head.

To jump ahead several punches and kicks, Dengeir was pleased with our success and paid us handsomely. I tried to appease Mjoll with an evening at Dead Man's Drink, but this time she was far too annoyed with me to be appeased, even though she ended up drinking more than Erik and I put together. I harbored a small, gleeful hope that she would finally give up on me and go home. Besides, I doubted her pal Aerin had much to do when she wasn't around to tag along with.

Erik was cured by a quick brew purchased at the local apothecary. The vampire disease was cured, anyway; the side effects of the poor-quality skooma, on the other hand, made him the center of attention at the tavern that night.

I decided it was probably best to leave Falkreath the next day. The place was far too dreary. Besides, there were other heroic deeds to accomplish, hirelings to ditch, and monsters to slay. All in a day's work for me, the Dragonbor—

"Hey! There you are, y' traitorous witch! You promised me your hand in marriage!" A dirty, exhausted, irate farmer stormed over to a tipsy Mjoll: the sole remnant of that Solitude incident, Bearded Farmer #2.

Yes. It was definitely time to leave.


End file.
